


Bright in the Dark

by lisslynae



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Gen, Snape Lives, ignores Epilogue, mentions of depression/suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-03-10 10:32:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3287054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lisslynae/pseuds/lisslynae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of the war leaves Hermione lost and bitter. A chance encounter with a random soul gives her new perspective on her life, and the sacrifice to redeem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bright in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> My favorite thing to read and write is the non-epilogue compliant stories. Rowling is brilliant, but she wrapped things up too nicely. And Hermione and Snape are the two characters that I hate to see so wrapped up. Snape deserved more, and Hermione had her childhood taken in war and chaos. I find it so hard to believe that the world moved on so smoothly.  
> Be warned that this mentions depression and thoughts of suicide. I've struggled with both, and this is not, in any way, triggering for me, but read with caution.

Hermione caught the bright taillights of the bus as they vanished around the corner and bit back a curse. The wind had faded a bit, but the air was still bitingly cold. She tucked her scarf tighter around her neck and puffed on her cigarette. There was another person a few feet away, equally bundled, and taller than her. The nearest streetlamp was half a block away, but she was inured to seemingly menacing figures in the dark.

After seven minutes and a second cigarette she stomped her feet to keep the warm and muttered under her breath. “Bloody bus.”

“Around here at night, it’s a 15 minute wait at least.”

She had nearly forgotten the other person at the stop, and jumped a bit at the low, gravelly voice.

She swore quietly, and lit another cigarette with the butt of the last. The warmth soaked into her lungs and bones, and the smoke spiraled gracefully in the dark. “Ought to stop.” she admitted. Even though she knew the man could not see her, and probably did not care either, she smiled and it crept out in her voice. “I used to be smarter than this—killing myself willfully—I mean.” 

The man moved slightly. “Despite more than one persons’ best efforts, I’m not dead, and I’ve smoked for 20 years.”

Her laugh had long ceased to be pretty. Instead it was a bit too harsh, too grating. “Me too.” she conceded. “At least this way, I’ll be choosing how I die. Not everyone got that luxury.”

She heard a sound that was a bit of agreement and a bit of a choked laugh and let the matter drop. She rubbed her hands against her legs to warm them. The silence was long, but not uncomfortable. He broke it gently.

“Is there any real virtue in choosing?” he asked. He seemed earnest, so she thought for a second before she answered.

“I’ve seen enough die that I think, yeah, maybe.” she ventured. “When you’ve got scars from others trying, and you’re dirty and cold, and not what you could be, but still get to choose, I think maybe that’s…” she faltered and stopped. “Yes.” she decided. “Even if you’ve never had another choice, at least I get this one.”

The pronoun exchange was obvious, and tinged with the kind of bitterness only someone who always would fight to survive could lay claim to.

“What could you be?”

She rocked gently on her heels. A dark bus stop was cheaper than therapy, she supposed. “Anything. A long time ago, I thought I’d have that option.” Her laugh was harsher this time. “Kids are idealists by nature, and god knows I was one of the worst. I was brilliant, and I had options. Now, I guess I can hope for is an honest epitaph. ‘She chose how she died.’ sounds good enough.” She flicked ash onto the the slushy ground. 

“Fatalistic.” he observed, cool and damningly.

Her voice was low. “Oh, no.” she answered steadily. “”…stopper death…’ someone said, and he could have done it, I’d have laid money on it, and I watched him die. That’s fatalistic. I screamed and fought and bit and clawed for this, and don’t you dare make it less than it is.”

She heard the empty click of a lighter, and extended her arm and flicked hers. Dark eyes met hers in the flicker of light. He took a long breath of his cigarette.

“Stopper death.” he repeated slowly.

Her laugh had a high, hysterical edge. She shivered abruptly against the cold. “Even just to have a choice.” she confirmed. “I would have.”

The bright lights of the oncoming bus swinging around the corner lit his sharp profile against the dark sky. He turned toward her as it drew to a stop.

“Funny thing.” he said. “When you stopper something, it’s not just one drop that it keeps from escaping, it’s the whole lot.” He was at her shoulder. “Fatalistic.” he repeated. His hand stayed on her shoulder until the bus squeaked to a stop. The lights from the bus spilled across them as she faced him. He was utterly unremarkable, with brown hair, a plain face, and keen dark eyes.

“Kept me from dying, you mean.”

He shrugged lightly at her accusatory tone. “Gave you a choice, like you wanted. More choices than this, I’d think.”

She held his wrist. “I can choose to not die, at least not now.” she almost begged. 

He held her arms almost tight enough to bruise. “You said you were brilliant. Why have you let guilt or pain keep you from being what people sacrificed to let you be? Were you the only one hurt?” he demanded.

She shook her head and huffed out a ragged breath. “More died.” she confessed. “It made me angry, and it was fuel. Now I’ve got nothing.”

“But a choice.” he insisted.

She twisted toward the bus, then caught his gaze. “Yeah, a choice.” she whispered. She lifted her head. “Thanks.” she murmured. “I promise I’m not crazy.” She hesitated, “And I won’t die, not now, anyway.” She jumped onto the bus in a smoke-scented flurry of tangled hair, ratty jeans and threadbare scarf. 

The driver looked at him oddly, but he waved the bus away, and watched until it turned the corner. When the street was dark and empty again, he shuddered, changing color and shape. Severus Snape tossed the remains of his cigarette to the ground and crossed the street, walking steadily until the dark mouth of an alley swallowed him.


End file.
